People to Call Home
by Kimagure
Summary: AU. A 'Sirius and Remus raise Harry' oneshot. Harry learns how to hug. Thanks to Sundaydriver and Ckdutchess for the betas.


Harry sits on the couch, his favorite sock in his hand. He's currently picking at a few of the loose threads on the toe because he's nervous. He knows that picking at it will ruin the sock, and that if he were at home, Aunt Petunia would tan his hide for willfully destroying something he's been given.

But he's not at home. And this place is new and strange and he can hear the two men in the kitchen arguing rather loudly despite the fact that they seem unaware—or maybe it's that they don't care, Harry can't decide—that he's hearing every word.

"Sirius, calm down! We just can't go rushing over there making wild accusations. He's just a child."

"Exactly!" At Sirius's rather loud retort, Harry takes a second to quietly creep to the edge of the couch so he can see into the kitchen. Sirius is angry, and Harry can tell from the way that he's yelling down to the way he's standing with his fists balled at his side. "He's just a _child_. Do you know where I found him this morning?!"

"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me." Remus returns, mildly. He's much calmer than Sirius, but Harry's not exactly stupid either. There's a stiffness to the way he's standing, and there's a defensiveness to the way his arms are crossed over his chest.

"He was in the closet, Remus. The _closet_!"

Harry frowns, almost nodding with Remus as he rolls his eyes. He doesn't see why it's such a big deal. "It's a small space. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he felt safer in the closet? That's an awfully big bed you bought for such a small boy. You're not thinking on his level. You can't immediately jump to the conclusion that he's, he's," Remus stumbles as he gestures. And Harry wishes he'd just spit it out, because he'd love to know what these men think he is.

Aunt Petunia says he's a freak. And that he's unnatural and bad. That he's a waste of space. He thinks that Dudley takes up far much more space than he, but he's never exactly been in much of a position to argue back with any amount of success.

"He's been abused?" Sirius challenges. "You're not seeing it because you don't want to, Remus." He pokes Remus hard on the chest, and Harry holds his breath for a second as Remus's face grows hard. "He wasn't in there because he felt insecure. He was in there because that was where he thought he _belonged_."

"You're reading too much into it."

"No I'm not. Don't you think I wish I were?" The fight seems to go out of Sirius, and Harry screws up his courage enough to slide down off the couch and creep to the edge of the doorway. He's done it enough times in the past to know how not to get spotted, and he crouches down in a shadow, pulling his sock up to his cheek to listen closer. "He asked me where my other kid was."

"What other kid? What the hell does that have to do with anything, Sirius? I swear you're not happy unless you're stirring up trouble."

"Oh, like you're a total angel. Please." Sirius folds his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes. And Harry tries to figure out what they're even arguing about it in the first place. Was the closet too close? He doesn't see how it's his fault. They were the ones who put him in the room after all. If they meant for their kid to have it, they should have put Harry somewhere else. But then again, Harry's no stranger to the bizarre and mostly twisted process that is adult logic. He doesn't actually have to do anything to be wrong.

"He thought we meant for him to sleep in that closet," Sirius continues. "Haven't you seen the way he flinches? The way he gets quiet when there's a tense moment? Most kids his age would be howling over being yanked out of the only home they've ever known like the way we've taken him from the Dursleys. He's _too_ well behaved. He cleaned the kitchen yesterday before we got up. What six year old do you know does that? You can explain away one or two of the quirks, but you can't explain them all away. His clothes? Those glasses? Did you see his face when I gave him that piece of candy, yesterday? That's not a normal reaction, Remus."

Harry's heart sinks a little and he rubs the sock back and forth against his cheek to distract himself from crying. He knows he's not normal. Everyone's told him so. Aunt Petunia says that's why he has to sleep in the closet and why Dudley gets to have his desserts. But since Sirius and Remus don't act like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, he thought that maybe he wasn't so much of a freak after all. He thought he'd been doing a good thing by cleaning the kitchen before anyone told him to, and he'd been trying not to be a bad boy. It doesn't seem fair that in being too good, he's been bad again. But, Harry supposes, fair is something you only get to experience when you're old enough and strong enough to make people be fair to you.

"Sirius, I just," Remus pauses, "Harry."

Jerking, Harry looks up to see that he's caught both of their attentions and that they've both caught him listening in on their conversation. His heart thumps hard against his chest and he scrambles to his feet, knocking into the small table he's been sitting under. It hurts his back, but he pinches his arm to keep from crying as he holds his sock behind his back. The two men share a look, and as far as Harry is concerned, that doesn't bode well at all.

"Harry?" Sirius finally says gently, coming over to him and kneeling so that Harry can look him in the eye. "Are you okay?"

Harry gives a jerky nod, and jumps when Sirius's hand lands on his shoulder. For a moment, he's tired. Really, really tired. This isn't at all like being with Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. He knows what to expect from them. He doesn't know what to expect from these strangers, and that scares him more than any tirade or punishment the Dursleys could ever think of dishing out. Remus comes over and bends down to his level, and it's too much for Harry to take, to be the center of their attention like this. He hears a muffled hiccup sob, and it takes him a second to realize that it's him.

"Oh, Harry," Remus says softly, and Harry flinches as the man runs a hand over his black hair. He doesn't want them to hate him. He's done everything he can think of in the last couple of days to convince them to let him stay. Because he wants to stay. He likes the warm little house and he likes the way that they let him eat at the table and the way that they don't screech at him every time he walks into the room. He may not know what they'll do now that they're angry with him, but he's almost certain that he'll be seeing the Dursleys again in the near future. He pulls the sock out from behind his back and rubs it furiously against his cheek, but it's not enough to keep his tears from coming, and he hates it.

"Come here," Sirius says in an oddly gruff voice, before pulling Harry towards him. For a second, Harry stiffens. He doesn't know what to do or how to react. This has never happened before and he's not entirely sure he likes it. "It's okay," Sirius whispers in his ear, rubbing a circle in his back until Harry gives into the sensation and relaxes. Just a little. He's seen other kids, _normal_ kids, do this with their parents. He just never thought it would happen to him. 

Sirius picks him up then, and it's only out of instinct that Harry's arms lift up and circle around Sirius's neck. He tenses for a second, sure that Sirius will be mad at him for presuming to touch him back, but Sirius only gives him a sad smile in return. "I think that Remus bought a lot of books for you when he found out that we'd get to have you live with us and I know he's been itching to read you some of them," Sirius turns to look at Remus and Harry finds himself doing the same.

Remus gives him a kind and patient smile, which is probably one of the more bizarre things Harry's ever seen in his life since most adults he's ever been in contact with have been short with him or sneering or uninterested in him as a whole. It's not the first time that Remus has given him this smile, but Harry thinks it'll be a while before he's used to seeing it directed at him. He hides his face in Sirius's neck as Remus rubs his back much the same way Sirius just had. "How about I read you a bedtime story, Harry. Would you like that?"

There's a long, long silence and Harry finally breaks it with a soft "okay" because it's the only thing he can think of to get them both to stop staring at him. He tries not to flinch with every step that Sirius takes up the stairs with Harry in his arms. From the look on Remus's face as Remus is walking up behind them, Harry doesn't think he's as good at hiding it as he'd hoped. He briefly wishes that Sirius had put him down and let him walk up the stairs himself. The last time he remembers being carried anywhere was when Uncle Vernon carried him up to Dudley's spare room as if he were a rotting sack of potatoes and dropped him on the old bed in the corner. Since an old spring poked him hard in the side and since he'd been sick with the chickenpox at the time, it's not Harry's best memory ever.

So, when Sirius grins and feints at dropping him down onto the mattress, Harry yelps and latches on frantically. "Oi, Harry, you're choking me," Sirius says hoarsely, and it's only when Harry feels Sirius's fingers gently pulling at his arms that Harry lets go completely, his face heating up in embarrassment. Sirius turns slightly, and Harry has to remember not to choke him all over again as Sirius sits down, back against the head board.

Harry scrambles off his lap and moves to the other side of the bed just as Remus comes up beside it, book in hand. Uncertain, Harry moves back towards the center, crawling under the covers as Sirius holds them up and gestures him in. Remus opens the book, and Harry looks at the beautiful pictures as he listens to Remus's quiet, mellow voice. If it weren't for the fact that Sirius's hand is idly playing in his hair, or that Remus's free hand is resting on his knee, Harry's sure he would have fallen asleep.

As Remus gets to the end of the story, Harry wonders if he's sick. If maybe that's the reason he's living with these two men now and why they keep paying attention to him. They haven't scolded and they haven't yelled—at him, at least. They've yelled at each other a couple times. But mostly the yelling is about him. Is he dying? Harry turns to sneak a peak at them both from under his fringe. Sirius is listening intently to the story and Remus has a small smile on his face while he's reading.

"We'll stay here till you fall asleep, Harry," Sirius tells him when the story is over. Harry tries to work out how this is going to happen. He's too nervous to sleep. Not to mention that when Remus and Sirius's real kid comes back, he's gonna want the bed that Harry's stolen. "No more sleeping in the closet. We'll make sure you stay safe while you're asleep." Harry frets over that as Sirius tucks the blanket in around him. If he's not allowed to sleep in the closet, where's he supposed to sleep then when the newness wears off? There's a doggy bed in the corner of the kitchen and he thinks for a moment that that's probably where he'll end up. And once he has that figured out, he can relax a little bit.

"Goodnight, Harry," Remus murmurs, ruffling his hair and studiously ignoring the way that Harry flinches. He puts the book he's finished reading on the bedside table, and Harry thinks that Remus will leave before he too toes off his shoes and curls up on the bed beside Harry. Sirius stretches out on his other side and snags one of the pillows.

And as Harry watches them both fall asleep, he's sure he's dying. It's the only explanation that Harry can think of that would explain why these two grown men are willing to sleep in the same bed as Harry the Disgusting Freak of Nature.

He doesn't toss and turn because he's done that in the past and the squeaking of the springs in his old bed in the closet under the stairs had Aunt Petunia screeching and banging on his door. But with two people beside him, he can't sleep either. And when his stomach growls what seems like hours later, Harry decides to risk it and carefully sneaks out of bed.

It's not the first time he's ever snuck out of bed for a late night snack, but it's the first time he's ever done it in this new house with these new people, so he's extra careful. He takes two slices of bread from the middle of the loaf so that they won't be missed and it takes him forever to figure out where the butter knives are kept along with the peanut butter and jelly. He's extra careful to rinse the knife between putting it in the peanut butter and then into the jelly so that no one will be able to tell that a sloppy six year old made himself a sandwich. He also washes the knife and quietly puts it back in the drawer he found it in before carrying the sandwich back upstairs.

Sirius and Remus are on the bed just where Harry left them, so Harry climbs into the big recliner that's sitting in the corner and cautiously eats his sandwich, making sure to catch all the crumbs and not let the jelly dribble. He's so intent on not making a mess that he doesn't see Remus get up, and it scares the living daylights out of him when he feels Remus's hand on his shoulder. Horrified, Harry watches as his sandwich lands on the arm of the recliner with a sticky plop.

Eyes enormously wide, he looks up as Remus kneels down beside the chair. "Got hungry, did you?"

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times soundlessly before he manages to finally squeak out an "I'm sorry." And once that one is out, it's like the flood gates are opened. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up. I'msosorrypleasedon'tbemad. I'm sorry I'm a bad boy." He wishes he had his sock, but it's on the other side of the room lying on the pillow next to the sleeping Sirius.

"You are a good boy," Remus says softly, ruffling Harry's hair again, and this time wincing himself at Harry's rather violent flinch. "Someone very important to me once told me that even if I sometimes do bad things, it doesn't mean I'm a bad person. You're not a bad boy." Harry's not quite prepared when Remus scoops him up, but he holds on tight as Remus walks to the other side of the room and places him back on the bed, taking a second to reach over and rescue Harry's sock from Sirius's pillow. "Sirius and I will make you a really big breakfast," Remus promises as Harry pulls the sock up to rub it against his cheek. "Anything you want."

Yup, Harry decides, he's definitely dying.

aaaaa

"Harry?" Remus's hand on his shoulder pulls Harry out of his pensieve. "What are you up to?"

"Just looking at an old memory. Remember our first week in this house together?" He smiles even if his face doesn't particularly want to go through the motions.

"Only peace and quiet we had until after that Jarvey he bought to keep you from feeling lonely, up and died of old age. Thank god those things don't live very long." Remus rolls his eyes, but Harry's long since been trained at how to read between the things that Remus says. Remus loved that Jarvey almost as much as he and Sirius did, caterwauling and creative swearing aside.

"I miss Mine," he says and then stops because Mine isn't the only thing he misses and it hurts to think about the other things he's missing. "I thought I was dying."

"When?" Remus asks sharply, but softens when he looks at Harry.

"Back then," Harry grins sheepishly. "No one had ever paid that much attention to me unless I was really sick or causing trouble. You both confounded me for a very long time."

"The feeling was mutual," Remus reassures him.

"I miss him," Harry blurts out, and he feels his face heat up as his eyes water in embarrassment.

"Me too," Remus pulls him into a hug, and for a moment, Harry feels like the scared stupid little kid he was, unable to do anything but stand in the embrace woodenly. When Remus rubs a circle in his back, it comes back to him and he hugs back with both arms, traitorously wishing for a second that Remus is Sirius because Sirius was the one who taught him how to hug. "It's not your fault." Remus tells him, and Harry feels a small pang of guilt.

"Because doing a bad thing doesn't make me a bad person?" Harry's not even sure he believes it, but it's the hope of believing it that's currently holding him together.

"He'd tell you himself, if he were here, but he'd done his share of bad things too, and you don't think he was a bad person, do you?"

And it's then that Harry can let himself cry.


End file.
